


children of the bad revolution

by hoars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad History, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Gods, M/M, Marvel Norse Mythology, Mash Up, Norse Myths & Legends, Ragnarok, Shapeshifting, Skyrim References, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:08:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoars/pseuds/hoars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Far away and long ago, the only companion Derek has, the only friend and enemy he's known since he was young, is the chain.</p>
<p>Then Stiles happens. </p>
<p>Then the crows.</p>
<p>Then the end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	children of the bad revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lana Del Rey's Children of the Bad Revolution. To history and mythology buffs, I am so, so, so sorry. I realize I mish mashed and took my favorite parts and shook it all up to create this historically and mythological inaccurate monster. I feel like I'm guilty of puppy murder. So sorry! Unbetaed so if there are any glaring mistakes, let me know so I can fix them!

"No knowledge can save you,  
And no magic will save you.  
For you will end up in Fenrir's belly,   
While heaven and earth will burn   
in Surt's unholy fire." -- Doom of Odin from  _Book of Heroes_

 

Far away and long ago, the only companion Derek has, the only friend and enemy he's known since he was young, is the chain.

The chain is braided silver and long lost ingredients made by the dwarves. Tiny links cinched together as delicately as a lady's necklace. It was a travesty for such a pretty thing to keep his muzzle shut and legs tangled. He was a cub when his masters first tangled him in the long, long chain. A game they called it.

"We dare you to break it." They boasted.

He'd been young. He hadn't even seen his first summer yet. Only a few months old. He'd been able to break the giant links of iron, the coils of steel and ropes of copper. His masters roared with laughter every time and he'd been pleased to do well. He'd thought them proud.

Then they wrapped him in the silver chain made by dwarves, one he couldn't break, and they wouldn't let him out.

He howled and howled.

Screamed for someone to help him but no one could. The wolf moon watched and wept, the sun wolf blistered and roared, and mother raged until they made mother disappear.

Their laughter still rings in his ears. It made him the feral beast he is now. He stalks these woods for his masters' beloved children to tear apart. He's managed to loosen the chain around his muzzle for that much. The chain prevents him from opening his mouth wide enough to swallow his masters themselves, but he has teeth enough to render flesh from bone and gorge himself on their favorites.

He's not a cub any longer.

He's grown. _Monstrous_ , he hears gods hiss, _dangerous_. They sound awed, impressed, horrified. He revels in it. These woods he stumbles through, his legs bound but he's loosened those enough to walk at last, are his. His domain. His territory. His masters know better than to come here. They fear him, his fangs and leave him to it.

It is such a day, he's stalking for his masters' heroes and favorites with his dark pelt matted by blood and dirt that he stumbles upon something new.

Derek thinks it is a something, at least.

He's hesitant to call it a someone. Man here was familiar to him. Tall, strong, bearded, metal plated, always a metal weapon in their hands, even the ones claiming only a desire to sing of heroes. This something smells like Man but doesn't look it. It's not dressed for the bitter winter that haunts this forest when the giants sulk and bid their time. Derek believes its skin burnt blue by winter, until much later. It is dressed in green and gray and no metal. It keeps his head shaved but for a long strand of hair braided with beads. He smells like the ocean and shores Derek didn't know existed. A bow in one hand and arrows on its back. It is small and fast. Not cumbersome.

Derek follows it around as stealthy as he can, bound by the chain.

He's startled by the realization this new thing was a Man.

This Man is different from the other Men he's seen trampling through his forest.

Derek watches the Man slips between trees to move like an animal. Like a wolf. Like Derek. He doesn't trample like the other Men. If Derek leaves the Man by himself for too long, it takes Derek a long time to track him down again. He's good at hiding and pretending to not be. The Man builds tiny fires that he buries to cook his food. He eats a diet of rabbit, fish, greens and roots. Derek travels alongside the man a long time. Long enough to learn the Man's secrets. Fires appear in the palm of his hands, as do miniature lights, suns, maybe stars, he heals himself and speaks to the forest like the animals can. The Man frequently speaks to himself, a word he repeats frequently being Stiles. Derek makes it the Man's name. His pet Stiles isn't like the other Men at all. Even his tongue is strange. Before Derek thought it was his wolf ears confusing the sounds, but Stiles doesn't speak the language of Men, but another language.

The crows know it.

They teach Derek sometimes, if he shares his kill with them.

"Blasted fucking something islands and something something suck a witch's tit." Stiles grumbles. The crows know the curses and oaths the best. The rest to come with time, everyone feels confident in saying. "Who something a princess here?"

Princess is a word Derek is intimately familiar with.

How many men dare his forest for a princess?

Too many.

Derek should give up on Stiles. Princesses are boring. He’s just like any other Man that comes trampling in his forest seeking Hel’s realm.

"That's not his name," the crows say knowingly. "It's Gwydion. Stiles is a curse. A damnation of the gods."

"Gwydion." Derek tries to say, but his tongue is too long and his teeth to sharp to say the name. Besides, he thinks calling the Man Stiles is right. A good omen of things to come, this Man named for the damning of masters.

It's been a long time of Derek following Stiles around.

Snow is falling from the sky now. Stiles still searching the woods for a princess. Derek could tell him there was none. He's looked, but then Stiles might leave. Men wear heavy furs this season and build giant fires or seek shelters like dens and burrows. Derek's pet doesn't seem to know what the cold wet stuff from the sky means for his health.

Derek loses the Man for a few nights. Derek was busy chasing strange sounds -- more ice wraiths and draugr, they grow more restless -- and sleeping the cold the ice wraiths infected him with away. They may not be able to kill him, but it still _hurts_. 

When he finds the Man, he is sleeping, bloodied and more blue-black marks are added to Stiles' body.

"Ice burn." A giant explains to Derek. "Man's skin is fragile. Ice burn long enough, Man dies." The giant smiles gleefully. "It would be wonderful."

"He was in combat." The crows inform him. "Killed a man big enough to fill us all."

Stiles does not wake up. Does not move but for his shivers and breathing. Derek creeps next to his pet and blankets his pet's body in his heat. Derek is large and warm. The metal chain hasn't stopped Derek from being those things. Just the other things -- wild, strong and free.

_Wolf_.

His pet wakes up, speaking more nonsense than normal but at Derek's urging Stiles follows Derek to his den, hand buried in his fur. "Cold. So fucking cold here. If the land wants me, let it keep me. Hey, pretty wolf. _Faol_. Rawr. Don't rip my internal organs out to feast on me. Grrrr. I taste bad. I think. The bears at home haven't eaten me yet, so I just figured. Was that a wrong assumption to make Mr. Wolf? What's this? A chain? A necklace? Are you a lady wolf? Nope, most definitely not." Stiles doesn't stop speaking until Derek has him dry in his den soon set to sleep.

Derek considers his pet with his head cocked.

The Man is still cold.

Derek has watched Stiles frequently enough to know he needs a fire. And for fire, he needs dry wood. Meat would not go amiss either. Derek brings both back to the cave. Taking breaks to curl around his pet to keep some heat in Stiles' bones. It seems his masters' Men are better suited for something after all. The thought makes him gnash his teeth and he tries removing the chain again in a fit before he decides, he will make his Man better than the other Men.

"Oh my gods, you do have red eyes." Stiles squeaks. "And you are the size of a bear. Gods, I thought I was imagining that. Right. Giant wolf the size of a bear with red eyes chained up with a trinket, and he's not devouring my soul. I must have been blessed by the entire pantheon."

Derek doesn't let the Man leave his den for the season. Stiles is bad at caring for himself in this weather. Plus, caring for Stiles isn't a hardship. He brings back his kills and wood. He keeps them warm with his fur. Stiles in returns warms the den with fire in his hands and stories that entertain. Derek doesn't know if Stiles is aware that Derek understands what he says, but Stiles tells him about his Men. Different from the Men Derek's masters favor. And new stories. When Stiles tells his stories, sometimes he pets Derek, cleaning his fur and scratching under the chain.

The chain bothers Stiles. Derek can tell.

"Where did it come from?" Stiles asks.

He touches it, rubs it between his fingers. Derek would growl, but the chain sings in Stiles' hands. Feels like liquid, loosens like he could slip it if he only he tried hard enough. He goes boneless in the Man's lap instead. Derek has waited a long time already, he can wait longer still. "Huh, _Faol_?"

_Faol_ , Derek and the crows have puzzled, means Derek.

Stiles' masters are curious and curiouser.

"Crows are sort of a death omen." Stiles says, watching Derek's teachers. "They must be different here."

"I have a brother," Stiles finally tells his origin. "He had a wife. The invaders took her. They took all of my sisters. We called Allison the Evening Star, she was so beautiful. Her bravery was the only thing she had in more spades than beauty. There was also Lydia. Our tribe's jewel. She was to be our priestess. We were born in the same season but despite that she was wise. A lot wiser than I. She was my sister. My leader.

"I came here to get them back, or to avenge them.

"We waged war on the raiders head on. It was stupid. We were too far from home. The quickest way would be to sneak into their midst and their lived while they sleep. Instead they slaughtered us.

"Somehow, I ended up here. Lost. They were looking for me. Hopefully they gave up on me. Left me for dead.

"I still want to avenge my brothers and sisters." He says fiercely, embers playing shadows on his face and making him look like Derek -- red eyes, hair shaped like wolf ears and long snout.

Derek knows no Men have settled in his forest. They know better than to do that. But Men venture his pass his borders still. A game of stupidity and bravery. If Stiles wants to kill his masters' favorites, Derek will be more than glad to help.

He hates them like they are his masters in the flesh.

He leaves Stiles awake and next to a warm fire the next morning. He has something, possibly someone, to find.

"Hey, where are you going?" Stiles says. "It's storming out there. Are you _insane_?"

When Stiles tries to leave the den, Derek snaps at him until he stays in place. Derek is the strongest. He can and will survive pass the days of snow.

He prowls his forest.

The giants speak of Man sightings. The crows ward off the ravens, laughing as they do, "What use are you to a god with one eye?" The moon lights his way. The wolf chasing Mani that he is ever thankful for. Derek thinks about mother. If mother would be pleased with him for his hunting, or if mother favors Men too.

He hopes mother doesn't favor them, but he wouldn't really let mother stop him now if mother did.

He finds one wrapped in animal skins, bear pelt pulled over his head to appear like a man-beast.

He chases the Man as close to his den as he can. Terror fueling the man's flight to the heart of Derek's territory. When Derek trusts the Man to go no further, he begins to make killing blows. On Man's haunches, around his wrists, finally the back of his neck where he can shake Man like a cub and snap his neck.

He drags the body back to Stiles.

"Below the hills and by L'annawnshee." Stiles whispers. "I don't eat human. That's sick and wrong. I mean some tribes have been known to but in mine that's a sign of insanity. Turns Men into creatures to despise."

Derek patiently waits. Stiles will figure it out soon enough. He's a smart pet. Derek shakes the water off his fur as best he can, the chain clinking and breaking Stiles from his fearful daze. Derek settles by the fire, content to let the flames warm him. He was gone for awhile hunting Stiles' enemy for him. It is pleasant to rest now.

He falls into a doze. Partial awake and partial asleep. He listens to the lullabies of the forest, until at last he can hear Stiles rustling through the Man's skins. He hears the clink of metal, like his chain, and opens his eyes.

Stiles is staring at the metal, the scent of fury perfuming the cave.

"You can understand me." Stiles says, his heart beating fast-fast. "You know where the killers of my kin are, don't you?"

Derek raises his head to stare into amber eyes -- if Derek had a pack would they have red eyes or amber like Stiles?-- and licks the blood still around his muzzle, pointedly.

Stiles grins, bares his teeth in a wolf's grin, in a Derek smile, "Of course you do."

Derek worries about the elements and his pet, but the cold does not seem to bother him. The blue burns -- "Permanent paint. Tattoos." the crows share. "We have tasted fallen Men with the same markings. It tastes like scarred skin and plant and ore." -- glowing faintly. Just enough for Derek's keen eyes to see.

His pet doesn't need to eat anymore or sleep. Stiles keeps moving, eyes intent. He follows Derek. Walks in the same shadows, steps in his paw prints, moving soundless like a predator. The ones that are the best at killing, quiet and deadly. Derek's masters' Men are loud. Making boasts and announcing their arrival with their feet. The crows have told Derek about Men's battlefields where they have fallen in pieces because they are too bear like. Always sure they are the biggest so they fall to the cunning and patient. The stories always cheered Derek up when his teeth hurt from biting the chain -- the crows intent.

He still hopes one day he'll break it.

He has thoughts, dreams of breaking the chain and swallowing his masters whole, ripping their limbs from their bodies to spread across the skies and making mother laugh in glee. Sometimes, he considers leaving with his pet. Go to shores unknown. Keeping what is his safe. Take the crows too. They are his friends, his pack, he thinks. The wolves chasing Sol and Mani calling Derek's small collection of pets so.

The Men have a den -- "Stronghold, a hall, a castle, not a den." The crows say sagely. -- outside of his forest. Derek can see it from the edge of the forest and the Men, tiny, moving about in the distance.

Stiles twitches.

"If we could lure them into the forest and pick them off one by one." Stiles shares with Derek. "We would have a better chance. But how to get them in the trees?"

Derek thinks, pressing his body against his human, wanting his fingers grooming his fur while he does. Stiles obliges, eyes thoughtful and away. As his pet scratches and smoothes rough fur, Derek watches the crows.

"War. Wars start for many reasons, don't they? Because of the loss of stars and gems and sisters." He asks them.

"And to show bravery. Strength." The crows answer.

"The animals here are weird." Stiles says. Derek nips his pet in disapproval. He should not speak of their pack -- "No! We're a murder! A murder pack band!" -- so. Respect is important. "But you aren't animals are you? Gods maybe."

_A god_.

It sounds better than monster. But if Derek was a god, then he would have broken free from the chain. No chains bind his masters. Nothing shackled them. Then, an idea worms into his mind. Men liked to prove themselves. Derek's masters liked to watch and brag about their feats. All Derek had to do was get the Men in the woods. All Derek had to do was give them all something to chase.

Him.

Derek removes himself from Stiles' lap. "Thought of something, have you?" And howls. Howls to remember his mother, to honor the chasers of moon and sun, to damn his masters. The forest shrieks alongside him. Giants hitting the dirt to shake the earth -- "What's going on?" Stiles asks, clutching him to keep steady. -- crows taking to the air to screech, everyone joining him, beckoning murders of free will to dare face them.

Derek sings and sings, until his howls crackle.

Calling his own army forth.

"Oh Bright Ones," Stiles says into his fur. "What are you? You're definitely not a wolf. You're a legend. You call and the forest answers."

Derek licks Stiles, feeling smug at the praise. Soon the forest will populate with Men. Stiles will see how they flock to defeat the beasts in the forest, and how easy the Men are to pick off. Stiles will understand and together, they will bring down his masters' favorites.

They just need to wait.

The forest always echoes with his night song.

"Definitely magic." Stiles says. "Why didn't I sense it? What do you hide, wolf?"

The Men will come to show off in the spring, during the thaw after being cooped up all winter. In the mean time, Stiles tells Derek about the Crow woman, Morrigan and the horned one, the Bright Ones, L'annawnshee. Sometimes they will spar. Derek always careful of his strength after the first time he hurts his pet too much. -- "Gentle! I'm only human, wolf-god! Shhh. It's okay. I know you didn't mean to. I'm healing, see? It just takes time and sleep. Shhhh. Hush, wolf-god." -- Stiles has to keep his strength up, not get weaker because Derek wasn't careful.

It is when the Man is tired the prelude ends; Stiles touches the chain. "This is magic. Powerful magic. I can't break it and I've seen you try. But what if I were to take it off?" Derek is going to snap, snarl at the hand tugging at him, but Stiles pulls the chain off. Pulls it off as easy as pulling off his animal skins is. The chain sparkles and falls to the forest floor, the both of them staring at it.

Derek is stunned.

"Magical items always have a loophole. The ones who made it probably made it to be unbreakable but impossible to remove? That would be stupid." Stiles says, triumphantly. "You probably couldn't remove it yourself because of the magic. Or the lack of hands. But I'm sure you're a resourceful wolf-god. You're so intelligent. Your eyes may be red but they think and feel like Man eyes."

Derek hates the chain. He loves the chain. It is the only thing he remembers for the duration of his life, not just his beginning and present. He wants to throw it in the river. He wants to keep it to try breaking apart. He wants to force his masters' to wear it. He wants--

He picks it up in his jaws and sets the chain in Stiles' lap.

Until he can decide, Stiles can keep it. Hold on to it.

Derek runs for the first time since he was a cub. Runs and runs, leaving Stiles far behind until he sees the other end of his forest. He's fast. He didn't think he would be, since he is big but he is. Could he run to the ends of the earth if he wanted? He opens his jaws wide and bites everything he can, leaving trees to fall, giants to mourn kin and animals devoured. The crows cackling. Only when his legs and jaws ache does he return to Stiles.

His pet is sleeping in their den, chain wrapped around his arm, the moonlight making them gleam.

"Careful." Hati says. "Mani watches you and your packmate closely. I can only distract him so long before notices and speaks to your masters."

Derek drops next to his pet and the Man wakes briefly, "Good. You didn't leave. I--just, always come back. I don't want to be alone."

The earth is beginning to green when the wolves chasing the moon and sun bestow a gift upon Derek. "At mother's urging." Sköll says. "Mother says it is almost time. Mother says to relish your gift before winter finds you all again."

"Keep them all very close." Hati warns, secret smile formed by a fangs. "Sleep well."

Derek goes to sleep as a wolf-god and wakes up a Man.

"Fuck!" Stiles shrieks in Derek's ears when he wakes up. "Who the underhills are you?"

Stiles goes for an arrow to stab him with. The arrow strikes his collarbone. He has a _collarbone_. Nonplused, Derek grabs Stiles by the wrist and shakes him. To make him drop the arrow. "Stiles." He growls. His voice sounds strange. Like it should be used to whisper into ears. "Don't."

"Stiles? Who's--? Me? I'm Stiles?" Stiles asks incredulous.

"Yes." Derek says shortly. "I am Derek. Not _Faol_."

"You're-- Wolf-god? How? By the Fair Lady. Was the chain keeping you a wolf?" Stiles speaks and does not stop for answers. Derek is long used to it and enjoys the sounds.

"Stiles." Derek says because he can and his pet is becoming breathless.

"No." Stiles' face twitches in confusion. "My name is Gwydion."

"No." Derek shakes his head. "Stiles."

"You named me after a curse against the gods?" Stiles asks in disbelief.

"Yes." Derek says. "And the crows."

"The crows-- you know, I did always think you were speaking to them. They always followed us around. But not the point! Gwydion. Say it with me.  _Gwydion_."

Derek ignores all of Stiles' attempts to be named something else as amusing as they are. Tired, Stiles sits back next to his fire and smiles.

"We have names for people like you. Skin walkers. Wolf brothers. Werewolves. People who are both animal and man."

Derek doesn't know what he is. He used to be a wolf. Now he's not but he's not Man either. Maybe there is truth in Stiles' words and he is a wolf-god. He doesn't know.

He curls close to Stiles as the night falls. Like has done for many nights, near to a year, his grown out hair tickling his nose. The braid is still long and now Derek has fingers to touch it, not just paws.

"What's this?" Derek asks. "The crows didn't know."

"A sign of my tribe." Stiles says. "That I am of age."

"And these?" Derek touches the tattoos. "We thought them paint like my masters' favorites."

"Your masters?" Stiles echoes before he shakes his head. "Blessings, the mark of tribe, the mark of my family, the mark of who I should have been before I came here."

"Show me." Derek demands.

"This mark, the one like the moon is my tribe's mark. Everyone carried this mark in my tribe. These circles with the lines through them are blessing given to me by the our priestess. This crow is a sign of wisdom and war. My family's mark. And this mark, these marks are what I would have done with my life. I would have been a druid. A man dedicated to the gods, nature and magic. I don't think I can be that man now."

"Why not?" Derek doesn't understand. Why does Stiles have to be anyone but who he is?

"I've seen too much." Stiles says. "I don't have the gentleness in me to be a druid. It was burned from soul when the raiders burnt my home to ash."

"Good," Derek decides. "I like Stiles. I know him. I trust him. Gwydion has no place here. He sounds too soft for the north."

"I--" Stiles falls silent to stare at Derek, bewildered and pleased. "Thank you."

Stiles' amber eyes are soft now. Derek doesn't know if he could call the look gentle when sparks seem to make his eyes catch fire. It is an intense stare. What softness Derek can find in Stiles does nothing to diminish the fangs hiding in him. As he was before, a wolf, eyes didn't capture his interest. Scent and movement did. Derek would stay awake, memorized, by the rise and fall of his pet. He would shove his snout where he pleased to inhale deep lungfuls of Stiles to learn what he needed to know. His senses are muted now. He can still hear Stiles' heartbeat and smell his contentment, but Derek can't hear the fullness of the forest's song. But to have clear sight, it is almost worth it.

"Go to sleep." Derek says. "Men will be coming to the forest. We need to be ready."

Stiles goes to lay under his blankets and like every night Derek has sent him to sleep, Derek clambers on too, settling his weight over his pet. " _What_." Stiles squeaks. "Um. This is a little odd. Not that I don't enjoy your warmth! But-- don't get the wrong idea! I really like sleeping with, next, to you. But, um, you're not clothed."

Derek huffs and willfully ignores Stiles arguments concerning clothes. All Derek needs is a den to block the elements and the warmth their bodies created to keep warm. _Clothes_.

Stiles stares frequently and touches as much.

It doesn't bother Derek. It isn't hurting him, but it makes him wonder. He would ask the crows, but he has not seen them since he woke up like this. At first, Derek believes it is because Stiles is still in disbelief and awe by the magic. Maybe he was. But the stares become appreciative. The touches lingering, making Stiles' face red.

"You're just, perfect." Stiles says one evening. "Like a hero or prince. Your eyes-- they're green. I thought they'd be red. They're pretty, nice." Stiles says distracted. "You move like you're hunting in this body. Prowling. Like you can sense weakness and you're waiting to strike. I just--" Stiles licks his lips.

Derek waits patiently, trying to puzzle his pet out when Stiles touches his chest to neck to face and pulls back like Derek has threatened to bite. Unsettled by this odd behavior, Derek grabs Stiles' hand and holds it to his face. Stiles' palm is warm against his face, and he remembers days of winter he'd make Stiles groom him all day. "You can touch me." Derek says and considers the matter over.

"That's all I want to do." Derek thinks Stiles says, but Derek is good with Stiles' tongue, not perfect. There is something about the words Derek thinks he'd understand if they were said in his first language.

Life goes on like before.

Derek and Stiles set traps in the forest for the Men. They spar. Derek hunts and brings back food. Stiles cleans it and cooks it. Derek figures out this body's limitation. Stiles practices his magic. "You remind me of the skalds." Derek murmurs late, Stiles huddled close for warmth. "Their magic is in their words and voices." They curl close to sleep, Derek embracing Stiles and Stiles burrowing into his side like a fox or mouse. Often, Derek wakes to Stiles clinging to him, even as it gets warmer.

They are going for a wash when Derek hears familiar voices.

"What's that?" Stiles asks, immediately alert. He has an arrow in hand again and Derek wonders what he'd look like with claws.

"Not sure." Derek grunts. "Stay close."

There's two Men and a Woman sitting close, speaking offer each other in loud squawking voices. The woman is light haired with dark feathers in her hair and decorating her flesh like clothes, her hair long and tumbling around her like a blanket. One of the Men is big and dark, skin like a crow's wing. His eyes orange-amber and familiar. The other Man has markings Derek mistakes for tattoos until the wind ruffles them. Feathers protruding from his skin, all of their skins. Curly hair a bird's nest.

"Crows?" Derek asks to be sure.

"Derek?" They chorus. "Good, you're here. Help us."

"They're the crows?" Stiles yelps. "The dead eating carrion birds that would follow us around and make to peck out my eyes when you weren't looking?"

Derek frowns at the crows. "Is that how treat a murder?" He asks sternly.

"Are you really reprimanding them for not killing me properly?" Stiles asks in disbelief. Derek rolls his eyes, and the light haired Woman smirks.

"You would play with us. Run, screech and give us shiny things. We were playing."

"Yeah. Playing." The curly haired Man nods. "A murderer's pack mate band can play, yes?"

"Murder? We aren't speaking killing dead murder here, are we?" Stiles asks, suspicion dawning. Stiles always catches on. Partially why he liked him so much.

"Pack." Derek shrugs. Stiles still frowns, uncertain which will not do. "Like sisters and brothers and _tribe_."

"They're your family?" Stiles asks.

Derek frowns. Why would Stiles not think--?

"Our family." Derek corrects.

Together, they take the crows back to the den.

Like most nights, after they've checked their traps and made a fire, Stiles settles in to tell his never ending stories. He's telling a wild tale about magic, kings, Druids and a ghost woman named Banshee when the keen eye woman says, "I want that to be my name. Erica. It sounds like ruler and honor."

Stiles pauses in his story, and shares a look of uncertainty with Derek. Derek shrugs. He didn't get to pick his name. But the crows and sky wolves used to call him Gifted-Ruler when he was young and the forest was first springing around him. The sounds for Derek came later, heard on the wind by mother and whispered to the crows to Derek's ears. If the crow-Woman wants to be Erica, then she should be.

"Okay, I'll call you Erica." Stiles agrees.

"Not fair!" The unkempt crow-Man protests. "I want a name too!"

"There's plenty of names in world." Stiles tries appeasing. Derek smirks at his pet's -- packmate?-- discomfort. "As long you don't pick Eric. That name is pretty much not for use anymore."

Despite the unkempt crow-Man's want for a name, the darkest crow finds his name first. "I like Boyd. I like the sounds." He confesses. The curly haired crow-Man screeches in protest and turns to Stiles and Derek with large, distressed eyes.

"Help me." He begs them.

Derek laughs. Stiles looks on disapproving, but his mouth twitches and hints at his amusement. Erica has no such qualms and shrieks her laughter. Boyd smiling gently at their unnamed companion.

"Why are names so hard?" The crow-Man implores. "Why can't you name me as others have done for you?" He stares pleadingly at Derek and Stiles.

Derek smirks again, ready to tease the crow again. The crows used to always tease him. Always ganging up on him, but like this, the other two feel safe and familiar enough to allow the gentle teasing.

"You seem to be making everyone laugh." Stiles teases. "How about he who laughs?"

The unkempt crow goes to say the name but the words come out, "Isaac."

"I like it." Erica declares. "Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Derek and Stiles. It sounds like a mighty murder pack band."

Isaac beams while Boyd nods along with pleased eyes. Strangely, Stiles graces Derek with shy eyes. All the faces his pet -- no, definitely packmate-- has are interesting, but what Derek finds unsettling is he knows what each look means with unnerving sureness it makes his body itch to run.

Erica takes to _clothes_ like she's been wearing them her whole life. "They're warm." She sniffs, and when she thinks that they can't see her, she pretends to be a bear, a wolf and once a fox, the pelts covering her light hair. Isaac and Boyd try to follow suit, but Isaac tangles quickly in all the rope and when Stiles expressed difficulty at clothing Boyd properly, both male crows decided on avoiding clothes like Derek.

Having the crows returned to him, even Man shaped, is good fortune. For all that Derek looks like a Man, he doesn't think or act like one. He has no experience with how to deal with Stiles like this. It makes Stiles nervous and speak too fast when Derek stretches across his lap expecting to be pet and cleaned like before. Stiles still does it, but Derek wants to know why it makes Stiles hesitant when before he'd be more than eager. It's little things Derek showing his affection in a lick across the cheek or annoyance with a quick nip to the hand that suddenly making Stiles' heart beat like prey.

"He's attracted to you." Erica says wisely when he asks. "Which is a little odd. Men don't usually desire male mates."

"How can you tell?" Derek asks curious.

"My mate would act similar." Erica smiles. "He would show off for me. Puff up his feathers, dance and sing for me." A wicked gleam enters her gold eyes. "I have to admit, I was mostly impressed with how he fought off his rivals."

"Your mate?" Derek asks.

"Boyd." Erica says. "It is sometimes difficult not to simply call him mine. It's what I've called him since our first nest."

Curious about the dynamics of Erica's murder, Derek sits still to listen. She explains how her and Boyd were bonded for life. How their chicks were born and sent out into the world. How Isaac came to be inseparable to her and Boyd when their roost aged and died and they didn't.

"It's why we liked you so much." Erica admits. "You never died." She blushes lightly. "You've lived in this forest since we were all eggs in the nest. You were always constant here. Even when we left to visit distant shores you kept living. You were like an older roost mate."

Since he was a cub, raging and crying at the chain hindering him, Derek can remember the crows watching him. Flying down near him or sleeping in the trees above him. He'd liked them for their knowledge and constant presence.

"Thank you." He tells his packmate. Roost mate. "I'm honored."

"As you should be." She sniffs. "What will you do about Stiles?"

"Do?" Derek echoes.

"Do you wish to reject his advances or accept them?" She asks archly. "Isaac spends the most time watching the Men, but I can give you my advice as well."

Derek growls at her, feeling frustrated. He wishes intensely he could snap at her and she'd disappear back into the trees or sky. Perhaps she has been around him too long because all she does is laugh and dance away.

"For what it is worth, I think he'd make a good mate!" She calls over her shoulder.

Derek thinks on his conversation with Erica while he and Stiles move through the forest in evening. The Men are creeping into their forest, getting caught in traps, being ripped apart by giants, and being unaware of Derek and Stiles lurking for the moment to stifle another life. Stiles taking a inwardly curved knife off one of the Men with ice in his eyes and a tight jaw. The next Man they come upon, Stiles strikes fast. The sharp metal slipping past the helmet and into the Man's eye. Moments like this, Derek can easily see Stiles fitting next to him as an equal. A companion for the rest of their lives. As short as Stiles' might be.  

Stiles strokes the handle of the knife with sadness in his eyes. Silent around the fire in a way that makes the crows tense and Derek restless.

"What?" Derek asks.

Stiles hands Derek the knife, tapping the handle. "The weapon is called a falcata. The shape the handle takes is a crow. The blood has etching of the moon and her faces." Stiles explains, sounding breathless and hurt.

Crows and moons, Derek's eye flit to the tattoos on Stiles' body. _Ahhh_. Derek didn't know how comfort his packmate. They already ended the Man's life. They were already working towards eradicating the Men from the forest to avenge Stiles' kin. What more could Derek promise?

Derek doesn't say sorry. Words, Derek thinks, would be meaningless, most likely why Stiles stayed silent so long. He wishes fiercely he could be a wolf again, climb on Stiles and anchor him in now and let Stiles cry into his fur how he used to when Derek first brought him to the den. Stiles is breathing too quick, gulping breathes.

Derek follows the urge.

He grabs Stiles by the hand, the falcata held in Derek's hand and drags Stiles to their bed. Over his shoulder, he eyes the fire and crows meaningfully. Boyd nods, and Derek puts the crows and fire out of mind. He pushes Stiles into laying down and immediately covers the Man with his body, effectively shielding Stiles from the world. The falcata clinking when Derek drops it on top of his chain. Stiles wraps his arms tightly around Derek, and faintly, Derek can hear Erica -- "Looks like you've decided."

In the early hours of the morning, Stiles whispers. "I thought I was over it. It's been four years since they raided my tribe. To see some goat fucking Norseman carrying around something that-- he had no right. None." He swallows hard. "Derek, I -- I just want them to hurt as much as I do. I want them to wish they were dead."

"Soon." Derek promises, darkness coating his words. "Mother only promised until next winter."

Isaac sometimes goes down to the village. He always comes back, excitement in his eyes as he tells them about the monsters living in the woods. "They say the Painted Man and Fenrir claim any body that dares to cross the tree line. Many a widow has the Painted Man and his companion Fenrir made." He laughs. "I've seen those uppity ravens flying about. I think someone is taking notice."

"Good." Derek smirks.

"Fenrir?" Stiles asks. "You? I thought your name was Derek?"

"Your wolf-god has many names." Erica laughs. "Fenrir. Fenrisùlfr. Hródvitnir. Vánagandr. Faol. Derek."

"I don't understand." Stiles says when Boyd bares his teeth in a vicious smile to accompany Erica's wild laughter. Isaac smiling wide and itching to translate the names to Stiles' mother tongue.

"They call him Fen-dweller, Fenris wolf, fame-wolf," here Isaac smiles in like with his roost mates. "The monster of the river Ván."

"But why?" Stiles blurts.

"Before there was trees, it was a fen. Wetland. As I grew, the trees came and then the things to inhabit the forest." Derek strokes Stiles' neck with a thumb. "Man remembers me. Even when he doesn't want to."

"Oh." Stiles breathes.

The summer bleeds away.

The forest constantly sounds of Derek song, the echo of giants, howls, caws, roars and screams, and is joined by a new song. That of Derek's masters. Lightening, thunder, metal clanging, chanting and singing. Together they sound like war.

The crows love it. Isaac and Erica shriek and sing poems and ballads about war and death and heroes at the top of their lungs. Boyd humming along and supplying missing words. Derek has never seen the giants so joyous. They bellow laughs that make Derek's teeth clatter if he's too close to their source of merriment. The ice wraiths howl in delight, even in fall, freezing all they can touch and wind around to bring winter early. The draugr creaking their bones as they patrol their territory. More and more every time Derek runs and surveys his woods. Everyone is waiting. Everyone is tense and breathless.

Stiles gets quiet again, but the good kind. The kind of quiet Derek can share because they are both deadly and swift. It pushes Derek from his indecision. Derek has been alone every year except for the crows at the corner of his eyes until Derek found Stiles in his forest three springs ago. Stiles has made things... _better_. Derek wants and he wants to keep, so he will.

Erica and Boyd are off in the forest, having sex. Derek can hear the sounds as clear if they'd stayed in the den. Isaac was watching the Men again. Infinitely curious about them. Stiles sits at the edge of the den, sharpening his falcata. Derek's chain is wrapped around his forearm like a silver snake. Derek has seen Stiles use it to bludgeon a man to death and strangle another. A seemingly harmless object that he makes powerful.

It's easy to appreciate Stiles and Derek appears by the Man's side before he realized he wanted to be. Stiles visibly startles, dropping the sharpening stone and clenching the falcata to use. "Derek! We've talked about this!" Stiles attempts to admonish but he still smiles. "A little warning would be nice. I realize I couldn't hurt you if I tried, since you're a wolf-god and immortal, but I'd give it my damnedest try. Which would end badly for me." Stiles frowns thoughtfully, eyes lingering on Derek in the way that feels like a touch each time. "Let's be honest, you could destroy me in seconds."

Derek shrugs because it is true. It would be so easy, even like this, to tackle Stiles and rip his throat out with his teeth. Derek has done it to more powerful Men than Stiles.

"You have your strengths." Derek says. "It might take a minute."

Those Men may be powerful, but Derek never doubted Stiles is more fearsome. Stiles would writhe and buck and _fight_ to stay alive. Derek is sure, in such an instance, he'd be overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it and hesitate.

Stiles snorts. "Thanks." He sets the knife down gently. "Did you want anything? Or simply to prove you are still the stealthiest in our little pack band murder thing."

Derek did his best to ignore Erica's unwanted advice on mating. He was a wolf. Crows were strange to dance and sing and ruffle feathers at each other. Wolves touch, nuzzle, share sleeping spaces. Not _that_. But it does not seem to be enough. Grudgingly, Derek was forced to ask Isaac. Men were so strange.

Many of wolf and Man courtship rituals were the same, nuzzling of mouths, touching noses, sleeping side by side, providing food and shelter, touching. Derek honestly doesn't know where he's going wrong.

Hati and Sköll laugh when he shared his frustration with them.

"Perhaps he does not feel the same?" Sköll teased.

Hati snapped playfully at his brother. "Don't tease. Men often have misconceptions about immortals."

"Like what?" Derek asked.

"That we don't love. That we don't want as they do. That they aren't as fascinating as we are." Hati said.

"Not to say that most are not worms." Sköll said haughtily. "But the ones worthy of attention... They are beyond any measurement. Like your Stiles."

For all his asking, Derek is still left with Stiles none the wiser. Derek decides direct is best.

"You." He answers succinctly.

" _What_." Stiles says. "Derek. No, wait, what? How is this possible--? Wolves, male wolves, usually want female wolves so they can have baby wolves. Cubs. Fuck, men usually want _women_. Men with men -- it's acceptable in some situations, well, I guess ours would apply since there is only Erica and she's married to Boyd, but still. Men do not want _that_."

Derek blinks, undeterred. "I want you. I want you to be mine. I want to have what Erica and Boyd have with you. I want to have what Deidrdre and Naoise had with you. I want--"

"You want me to be your wife?" Stiles asks, sounding aghast.

Derek takes a few seconds to process what Stiles' scent and body language tell him. Stiles smells happy, nervous, afraid and sad all at once. His body language jittery like he thinks he might understand what Derek is trying to say but can't quite believe it. He sounds horrified to be a wife, however. If that is all that prevents Stiles from saying yes, well, then.

"I could be yours." Derek offers. He shrugs. "I don't care. I want you to be my mate. My equal. My -- life's companion."

Stiles twitches and shows Derek shy eyes. "You don't want me to be your--?" He trails off and blushes brightly. Derek is immediately curious but Stiles changes his thoughts. "You want me to be your lover? You love-- care about me like that?"

Derek remembers what Hati said. About Man doubting that they can love. Derek feels. He feels rage, hatred, contentment, happiness, tired, energized, thoughtful, afraid, amused, predatory, sad, affection. Why would he be incapable of love simply because some believe him a monster?

Would love be the correct word to use? Almost desperately, Derek wishes the crows were near so he could ask. Is love the word that explains how he feel about Stiles? Does it explain how he's never allowed to leave and how much closer Derek wants him?

"Yes." Derek settles on. "I want you in all ways."

"Oh." Stiles swallows. "Seven hills, I'm so messed up. You're a wolf-god. I can't-- you're male -- I, damn everything. I want-- yes. Please. To all of it. I want to be your-- mate. Lover. Pair bonded. Whatever the word is. I've loved you for the past two _years_.

"I-- can I touch you?"

"You've always had permission for that." Derek says, tilting his head.

"No, like touch you how-- a wife and husband, no, how Erica and Boyd do."

"Stiles," Derek says lowly. "You've always had permission for that." And deliberately moves Stiles twitching hand to his skin, Stiles eyes going wide and arousal immediately following.

The kiss -- a concept Stiles had to explain in depth in the middle of one of his stories of love and tragedy -- is gentle. Stiles still afraid and uncertain. Derek careful to follow Stiles' lead in how Men do this. He doesn't want to do it wrong. He does sort of want to bite and lick his way into Stiles' mouth and _taste_.  He holds back, promising himself he won't ever let go of Stiles and he'll have time to do it all.

For all that he was waiting for it, Derek is still surprised by the first act of war between Derek and his masters.

It's on the cusp of winter.

Erica, Isaac and Boyd stretching their regained wings high in the sky. Derek stretching his four legs. The forest leaps alive to welcome him back. Stiles waiting for them back at the den with a bittersweet smile on his face as he watches them take their regained body through their paces.

Derek goes back to the den and Stiles, and discovers he can change between bodies if he wants it enough. But hands and fingers don't stop the bleeding two raven feathered arrows have created in Stiles' body.

"Mother!" Derek roars.

It can't end like this.

Derek didn't want to lose his packmate. Any of them but Stiles even less. Stiles was his good fortune. His first pack mate. Stiles was _his_.

"Never have I asked you for anything!" He shouts to the skies. The crows crying in his ears. Stiles _stiles_ stiles. "But now! Please!"

Mother appears in the second of a blink. Derek has heard rumors of his birth from every living creature. The cursed union between a god and giantess. Geri and Freki's spawn. A wolf and a goddess. That he simply appeared when the world was being made. Derek thinks his masters would have accepted him if he born from any of the above circumstances. But he was born the child of a trickster.

No one trusted tricksters or their offspring.

"My son." Mother says. "I grieve with you."

Derek snarls. "Don't grieve with me. _Help_ _me_."

"He's dying." Mother says. "These arrows struck true."

"Mother." Derek says. "I have never asked you for anything. Please. Help."

Mother considers him coolly before kneeling next to Stiles. "I'll speak with your sister. I'll save him now and go one step further, keep alive even with the Esir watching."

"What do you mean?" Derek demands.

"My son, you called down the Esir's rage by sending so many of their precious pets to Hel." Mother smiles fondly at Stiles. "Especially this one. He's enraged them all so thoroughly. One little son of Brighid ruining a king and his thanes and removing the scary wolf's leash. He made them all so furious."

"The Esir did this?" Derek echoes.

"On The Allfather's orders." Mother nods.

Derek couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears.

Stiles is white, whiter than he has ever been. The tattoos stark against his skin like veins of blue-green made just to taunt Derek that his life is slipping away. His hair has grown out some. Enough for Derek to feel against his fingers but the long braid is still there, curling now at his throat next to all the marks Derek has left on Stiles' skin to warn off others. He's so still. Derek--

Howls.

He howls like he never has before. Mother watching with curious eyes. He hurts. He's furious. The forest immediately roars back. Yes. Yes. Yes. We will fight with you. We'll bury the earth in fire and ice and make it rue the day.

_Ragnarök_ , they all sing, howl and roar back. _The end of days._

Mother smiles, terrible and great.

The winters after Mother hides Stiles from the Allfather, deep in their den, Derek remembers in a haze.

He remembers going to the Men's castle and ending every life he encountered. He remembers biting a god's hand off and ripping the rest of him apart at a later battle. Ravens screeching in the air, flying swift to deliver news of Fenrir the Terrible to their master. He remembers how his masters, he snarls mockingly every time he thinks it, scrambled to find his chain that Derek left with Stiles.

It was three hard winters.

A giant washed the sky in fire. Their constant quaking of the ground erupting the mountains and lava bursting from where it's been contained. The fire destroyed everything, waking the dragons. Lightning and thunder constantly sound. What didn't burn, froze. The ice wraiths feeding to their content. The draugr punishing descendants for crimes known only to them.

Derek remembers clearly, Erica being injured by the ravens and falling so fast from the sky while Boyd and Isaac rip the ravens apart. Derek catches her as gentle as he could, but still like Stiles he could find her slipping from him. He took her to the den, Isaac and Boyd following soon after, clinging to his back and depositing them by Stiles breathing, sleeping form deep, deep in the den.

"Sleep," he remembers telling them. "I'll come wake you when you've healed and when peace is restored." And they did. Sköll and Hati finally catch Sol and Mani. The earth plunged into grey twilight. Most of his masters died, and then _mother_ died. It incited him. When his masters were busy fighting his brothers and sisters and allies, Derek hunted for the Allfather, the one to dare taking what Derek holds more precious than he ever did his freedom.

He finally got his wish and devoured the one eyed god whole.

Dying, his only regret is he wasn't able to drag himself to Stiles and the crows deep in his den.

 .......

 ......

 .....

 ....

 ...

 ..

 .

History vaguely recalls Ragnarök. They call it the twilight of the gods. Derek supposes it's not history's fault. The crows did scatter Huginn and Muninn across the battlefield.

What surprises Derek is how he wakes up.

The Allfather left killing blows deep in his body before Derek snapped him up. He should have died. He thinks, maybe he would have, if his brother, the world serpent, hadn't deposited him on an island of mist to sleep and sleep.

The sun and moon are new but old friends. Hati howls in delight and glows blue at the sight of him. "The world has changed so much, little brother. You've slept a very long time." Sköll burns too bright and causes a drought when Derek calls to him. "You're awake! Finally!"

"Let us tell you about what has passed." The chorus on a day the sun and moon eclipse.

They explain how the world ended and restored itself. How two humans were hidden to repopulate the earth. How some of the lesser gods survived but mostly sleep now. They explain how magic exists like the wisp of a dream. It exists but difficult to find and hold on to. Hati excitedly tells Derek of the his children -- werewolves. "Mother was on to something, making you capable of both worlds." Hati says. "They sooth my heart." Sköll huffs in good nature and explains to Derek these new humans. "They are more respectful. Not as worm like. You should see them. Their technology has improved since you went to sleep. Miniature demi-gods, each one of them." Sköll sounds impressed and Derek becomes curious.

"But you probably care not when you have pack waiting, eh?" They say together.

"Your forest has been lost to all for a long time." Hati says.

"Jörmungand sneaked it away to avoid any accidents." Sköll agrees. "It exists in the in between."

So Derek begins his quest to find his den. He learns to be a part of the new human world by necessity. Hati and Sköll teaching him what they can of the new languages humans speak. He calls himself Derek Hale -- "Still not ready to let go of the wetlands?" Sköll teases. He wears clothes and keeps an apartment. He travels and is paid to take pictures of his travels. "Your pictures-- how do you find these places?" His boss asks. Derek searches and studies the remnants of history of Ragnarök. The poems, of course, are faultily translated but he finds them to do so properly. He learns little from them but the names of beings who may still live to give him clues of where his brother the world serpent would have made the portal to his den.

When he finds it--

It is exactly as he remembers it.

The blood at the entrance smells fresh. The crows' fallen feathers still on the ground. He goes deep to find his pack, remembering the winding paths.

He wakes the crows first. "The war is over."

Isaac blinks blearily and when he ruffles his feathers, changes into back into the curly haired unkempt Man-- human. He yawns, his jaw cracking. "I've had such wonderful dreams." He murmurs in English as Boyd checks Erica's injuries to insure they've healed. "Terrible and beautiful in equal turns." Isaac smiles fuzzily at Derek. "After you wake Stiles, I have good news for him from Morrigan. About his tribe."

Erica wakes with a gasp and cough. Derek has to catch her as she shifts quickly into the light haired woman. "Nine realms." She chokes in the old tongue. "That fucking hurt. I hope those little bastards are dead."

Boyd caws and preens her hair, settling on her shoulder. " _Boyd_." She breathes.

"Isaac went to the entrance." Derek informs the two lovers. "The sun is warm and friendly. There is clothes if you desire them. Food if you are hungry. I'll follow as soon as I've woken Stiles. Wait for me. Isaac knows how the world has changed. He'll tell you."

"Never thought I'd see the day." Erica smiles at Derek. "You've mellowed."

Derek gives her a small smile. "Not much to be angry about. I have my pack. The earth is green. My masters are dead. I am happy. Now go."

Derek waits until he can no longer hear her footsteps before turning to Stiles. He still looks the same as the day Mother put him here. Derek hesitantly cheeks beneath his clothes, where the raven feathered arrows struck, and closes his eyes in relief. The injuries are healed. Scarred star bursts that gleam silver like Hati's glow. Stiles' face is healthy, not the deathly pale that was burned into Derek's memory. Gently, he prods Stiles awake, calling for him.

"Time to wake up, Stiles."

"I'm awake, wolf-god. I'm -- _Derek_?"

Derek smirks as amber eyes fly open in a new age.

 


End file.
